


A Piece of Silly Affection

by Reccea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reccea/pseuds/Reccea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve looked good, He looked hale and hearty and uninjured in his leather jacket, too-tight shirt, and jeans. He got off the motorcycle and his movements were graceful and fluid - no obvious signs of injury. He took off his helmet and --</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Steve had a beard.</p><p>Bucky’s mechanical hand spasmed oddly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Piece of Silly Affection

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a great many thanks to Smittywing for her cheerleading, her enthusiasm, and her beta skills. This story would be pretty awful without you.
> 
> Secondly, this story can be blamed on the magnificent beard of Chris Evans and the gifs and pictures many a kind tumblr user has posted that have made it across my dash. It shouldn't be that hot, but it totally is.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/reccea).

Bucky was sitting on the kitchen counter, assessing his dinner options, and wearing Steve’s sweatpants and fake SSR shirt and no shoes. Steve had been on a mission with Clint for well over a month now and Bucky had finally given in to wearing Steve’s clothes and sleeping in Steve’s bed and generally being as pathetic as humanly possible. Steve had called to check in regularly, and the remaining Avengers have stopped by periodically, but Bucky was only comfortable with so much socializing and he’d been cooking for one for weeks now. He was thinking tonight might be a night for take out when the elevator chimed.

Avengers Tower was as safe a place to live as Bucky could reasonably expect. But he was on the floor, back pressed against the kitchen wall, two of his four knives in hand before the elevator door fully opened.

Thor cheerfully called out, "Friend Buchanan! Your absence has been remarked upon!"

Bucky hesitated momentarily before putting the knives back, because there had been that weird clone alien problem a month back, but no one but Thor - not even the alien clone - called him Buchanan.

“Uh, hey, Thor.” Bucky waved awkwardly when Thor walked into the kitchen.

Thor was wearing Mickey Mouse pajama pants and a t-shirt that said “Hammer Time.” Either he’d lost a wager or he was settling in for serious couch time. Bucky felt a little less self-conscious about his own clothing choices.

“We are about to view a film and have a feast. Your presence would be most welcome,” Thor said, as he looked about the empty kitchen.

Bucky frowned. “I thought movie nights were Thursdays?”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed. “But with the captain and Clinton on a mission and my fair Jane and her friends at their conference until the morrow, Bruce, Miss Potts, and I decided to host a movie night, regardless. I have selected the film and we need only yourself, Natasha, and Anthony to make the evening complete.”

The thing with Thor was that he meant what he said. He wasn’t (just) inviting Bucky because Steve had been gone for a month and they were all concerned that Bucky was becoming a hermit.

“Miss Potts has ordered brownies for the occasion and Samuel has sworn to present pizzas upon his arrival,” Thor wheedled.

Bucky pursed his lips thoughtfully, teasing Thor. “Well I guess if Sam’s coming….”

“Is not my presence enough to lure you?” Thor laughed, clapping Bucky on the back. “Come, I have collected the softest blankets and there are enough that we might all share.”

Bucky relented, smiling despite himself. “Well, who can resist the fuzzy blankets?”

“Who indeed,” Thor agreed.

***

Pepper was unpacking brownies from a pink bakery box when they got to the community floor. Bucky grabbed a second plate and set it down just as she had filled the first up. “Thanks,” she said with a smile.

Bucky ducked his head and smiled back. He hadn’t made a great first impression on Pepper - or really any of the tower residents - and he appreciated that she didn’t seem to hold it against him.

Sam came in a few minutes later with several pizza boxes. He handed one to Thor and then another to Bucky before spreading the rest out on the counters.

“I’m not going to eat an entire pizza,” Bucky objected. Then he lifted the lid. Extra cheese, pineapple, and extra pepperoni. He decidedly did not add the box to the line at the counter.

“Sure you won’t.” Sam gave him a look. “You think I don’t know all about super soldier metabolisms?”

“Steve ate that much when he was five foot nothing,” Bucky lied.

Sam narrowed his eyes and pursed his mouth but he didn’t outright call Bucky out, which meant he wasn’t one hundred percent sure Bucky was lying. Bucky grinned. Sam snorted and shook his head.

“We have food, we have drinks, and we have me. The evening can begin!” Tony announced as he exited the elevator, followed by Bruce.

“Don’t start, Tony,” Pepper scolded fondly, handing Tony a plate and accepting a kiss on the cheek. Tony smiled at her like a dope and then, after a long moment, turned towards the television. “What’s on the menu for tonight?”

“A tale of glory, bravery, sword fights, and song,” Thor replied, already lounging across a large portion of his couch, with his pizza box open and his pizza half gone.

“Oh, damn!” Sam exchanged a fistbump with Thor before sitting down. “That is a great choice.”

“You know the movie by that description?” Bucky asked, bringing his pizza box and a plate over to sit down next to Sam.

Sam clinked his beer against Bucky’s soda. “You will too, my friend.”

A half hour into the movie Natasha’s phone chirped and she pursed her mouth as she stood up and pulled it from her pocket. Bucky heard her say, as she left the room, “I thought you guys were heading back tonight. Something go wrong?”

Bucky could guess who she was talking to and it took real, genuine effort to continue sitting on the couch, pretending to watch the weird knight and rock music movie, knowing something might be wrong with Steve’s mission. His stupidly long, stupidly unproductive, undercover mission with Clint.

Natasha was back within minutes, asking JARVIS to pause the movie. “We’re needed in the garage,” she said.

Bucky was off the couch and headed for the stairs to get weapons and armor from his room when JARVIS politely asked, “Should I arrange for medical intervention? Mr. Barton did not indicate any difficulties.”

“No, thank you, JARVIS,” Natasha said as she grabbed Bucky’s arm. She shook her head at him, smiling infinitesimally. “Apparently there’s something we ‘have to see’.”

Bruce and Tony exchanged looks (Bruce’s dubious and Tony’s excited) while Thor stood up and excitedly proclaimed, “Then we should not tarry here any longer!”

He clapped Bucky on the back and headed for the elevator. Bucky rolled his shoulders and followed, suddenly intensely regretting his wardrobe choices. Maybe Steve wouldn’t notice. After all, if there was something Clint wanted them to see, then it had to do with Steve or with the car Clint ‘borrowed’ from Tony. Either sounded interesting enough to keep him engaged.

The trip from the penthouse to the underground garage was always shorter than Bucky expected. He wasn’t sure if it was that his mind unconsciously compared the Tower’s elevator to ones from his childhood or if the Tower elevator was appreciably faster than most other modern elevators. He suspected the latter but he wasn’t willing to ask and accidentally engage Tony in a thirty minute monologue about the wonders of Stark Tech. He’d made that mistake once and only just came away without his arm gaining vibration and rocket fire applications.

They sat around the small, sectioned-off portion of the garage (where Stark cars and Avengers vehicles alike lived) for a few minutes before Bucky heard the rumble of Steve’s Harley. Clint, in a miraculously undamaged car, parked first and hopped out a little too eagerly when Steve pulled up. Clint made a lot of excited hand gestures that Bucky ignored in favor of assessing Steve.

Steve looked good, He looked hale and hearty and uninjured in his leather jacket, too-tight shirt, and jeans. He got off the motorcycle and his movements were graceful and fluid - no obvious signs of injury. He took off his helmet and --

Oh.

Steve had a beard.

Bucky’s mechanical hand spasmed oddly.

Natasha gave Steve a very obvious once over. "What's that on your face, Rogers?"

"I think it's called a beard," Steve replied, scratching the aforementioned beard with his right hand as he hooked the helmet to his handlebar. "I hear all the kids have them these days."

Natasha's face went still as she _clearly_ barely kept from smiling. She may not have liked Steve's facial hair but his sass was a whole other story.

“You decided to become a hipster. Or a lumberjack. Or - are there other options?” Tony asked the group at large. “There are probably other options. But if you’re planning on embracing hipster culture you’re probably going to want to find those grandpa clothes Romanoff told you to burn.”

“I decided I didn’t like those undercover masks,” Steve explained with an unconcerned shrug. “This was easier.”

“Shield tech.” Tony mimed wadding up a paper and throwing it in the trash. “I can come up with something better.”

Steve shrugged as he headed around to the trunk of Clint’s car, grabbing duffel bags. “It’s really not a big deal.”

"Not a big deal? Tony scoffed. “I am mortally offended by your skills with a razor and your priorities. Do you need the number for a barber? Jarvis can find a barber that uses a straight razor and doesn't work for hydra."

“Tis a fine beard,” Thor countered as he walked over and took a few of the other bags Clint had emptied from the trunk. “Have you considered growing your hair to match? Fandral keeps his hair shorn but most on Asgard favor longer styles and it may suit you.”

There was a chorus of objections from the other Avengers and Bucky was actually able to get his throat to work again so he joined in. He didn’t think he could handle Steve with long hair, too.

"I tried to get him to shave before we left," Clint said as he came away from the car with one last duffel and his bow in hand. "But apparently my knife isn't a good enough razor for him."

"Your knife," Tony said in that tone he used where he was horrified but not entirely surprised. Bucky liked that tone, it was amusing.

“His knife.” Steve had the sort of expression that meant he probably agreed with whatever Tony was thinking. Though Bucky couldn’t be sure because the beard just-- it was hard to tell anymore.

“Anyway.” Steve shrugged. "I like it."

"You like it," Natasha repeated, thoroughly unimpressed.

"It's the man's face, he gets to pick what to grow on it," Sam cut in, as he stepped forward to hug Steve.

"Thanks, Sam." Steve smiled brightly and then said, perfectly straight-faced, " No one ever complains about the hack job Tony has."

"Excuse me?" Tony huffed, following Steve as he walked away from the car. "Do you know how many men have tried to copy this Van Dyke over the years?"

Steve laughed, grinning at Tony, who seemed to be slightly mollified.

"All right, keep your mountain man chic for a few weeks."

"Thanks, I will," Steve replied. He made a slight detour from the group to stop in front of Bucky. "Hey, Buck."

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

Steve smiled sweetly, fondly. "Miss me?"

Which was funny in how badly it understated things. Bucky shrugged. "Guess it was kind of quiet," he said blandly.

Steve's smile widened and he hooked an arm around Bucky's neck and shoulder, pulling him away from the wall in a hug. Bucky hugged him back, still a little awkward at Steve's open affection, but not opposed to it. Sam was at Steve's six, talking shit about what exactly Bucky and Natasha had been getting up to in Steve's absence - nothing worth worrying Steve over, Bucky felt - and Steve dragged Bucky inside with him while he and Sam fired sarcastic shots at each other, clearly delighted to see each other again.

***

Bucky couldn't stop staring.

He felt like he was having a nervous breakdown but that was ridiculous. This was ridiculous. It was facial hair. Bucky had taught Steve how to shave for fuck’s sake. A beard was nothing to even give a second thought to.

Only, of course, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or staring. Because Steve--

Steve had always been ten kinds of gorgeous, small or big, sickly or healthy as a horse. He’d always been the thing that got Bucky tied in knots. It was normal. It was fine.

Except for how suddenly Bucky just couldn’t keep himself together over it.

Beards were never the thing, growing up. Mustaches worked for some and there was the occasional goatee here and there, but a full beard was the province of the near-elderly or the men who were covering scars from the Great War. Steve’d certainly never grown one - hell, Steve hadn’t had to shave until he was almost twenty. So Bucky chalked his obsession up to the newness, the novelty. Steve Rogers with a beard, who’d’ve ever guessed.

But the newness faded, the novelty wore out, and still Bucky would catch himself staring, catch his heart pounding when Steve absentmindedly scratched at his jawline, or fussed about the way his mustache didn’t always sit right. It was as if the beard had finally given him a reason to look and now he wasn’t ever going to stop. It was sublime hell.

Steve, for his part, seemed to love the beard too. He’d brought home weird care products like lotions and oils and an electric razor/beard trimmer thing and he went to the store specifically for leave in conditioner when he decided it was just a little too rough. It was about the most vain Bucky had ever seen Steve and it was just really, really great. Steve had been down on his body from puberty until the war and even after he’d grown a foot taller, he’d shrugged off any compliments with replies like “Dr. Erskine was a real genius,” or “that’s thanks to the serum”, stupid stuff like that. So seeing him humming in the mirror, primping and showing a little pride?

That was even more attractive than the damn beard itself.

But apparently only to Bucky.

 

“It’s unanimous,” Steve said as he opened the fridge door.

Bucky frowned, certain that he had no reasonable way of knowing what Steve was talking about. He took a bite of Cheerios. “Okay,” he said after a moment.

Steve pulled the milk carton out of the fridge, closed the doors, and then turned around so he could lean against them. “Everyone hates the beard. Even Thor, now that he’s convinced I won’t grow my hair out.”

“Ain’t I a part of ‘everyone’?” Bucky asked.

Steve made a face, opened the carton, and took a long drink from it. “You know you are, Bucky.”

“Really? Because you didn’t ask me.” Bucky leaned back in his seat. “I like the beard.” And he did like it. He liked the way it highlighted Steve’s jawline - so much stronger than it used to be - and the way it brought the focus in on Steve’s mouth, which had always been a distraction for Bucky. How it seemed to make his eyes even bluer.

Steve smiled and shook his head. “You don’t need to lie to me, Buck. I’m a big boy.” He took another drink and then set the carton on the counter.

“Didn’t notice,” Bucky deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

Steve smiled. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, well.” Bucky shrugged. “I do though, you know. Like the beard. It’s nice.”

Steve’s smile widened. “Nice?”

“You fishing for compliments?” Bucky threw a Cheerio in Steve’s direction.

Steve caught it in his mouth and crunched it over-dramatically. “Always,” he replied with a wink. It was flirtatious in that way Steve was now that he wasn’t getting in his own way. No longer so hung up on all the things he wasn’t, he smiled and batted his eyelashes and joked about things he used to get quiet and frustrated about. It was breathtaking and it made Bucky’s stomach go warm, even though he knew Steve didn’t mean anything by it.

“Well, that’s all you’re getting,” Bucky replied, so used to finding Steve captivating that he could banter through it, no problem.

“It’s ‘nice’,” Steve repeated.

Bucky shrugged. “I like it.” He got up from the table to drop his bowl in the sink.

“Well, then, guess I’ll have to keep it.” Steve was smiling but there was something in his expression that Bucky didn’t have a name for.

“Good,” Bucky said, finding his voice had gone tight and rough.

Steve stared at him, eyes narrowed curiously. Bucky coughed and grabbed the towel from next to the sink. “But if you’re gonna keep it?”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

Bucky threw the towel cheerfully in Steve’s face. “You have milk in your mustache. You’re a disgrace, Rogers.”

***

"Do you like the beard burn?" Tony asked, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Bucky looked up from the schematics for the next arm retrofit and stared hard at Tony.

"I'm doing a study," Tony said. "For science."

When Bucky still didn't reply, Tony huffed and took a seat on the stool next to Bucky. "Pep's not a big fan, but I've known people in the past who were into it. So that seemed the most promising hypothesis for your support of Steve's grave mistake."

"Do I have beard burn?" Bucky replied evenly.

Tony looked up from where he was unscrewing one of Bucky's forearm plates. He gave Bucky a once over, frowned, and then got up in Bucky's face to really be sure.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Huh." Tony shook his head. "Sam won the pool. You two idiots still aren't making whoopee or whatever ninety-year-olds call it."

"Good for Sam," Bucky deadpanned.

"You go on vacations together!" Tony sounded almost scandalized. "Didn’t you spend a few weeks in a cabin in the middle of nowhere? What the hell did you even do if you didn't spend the whole time in bed?" Tony was nose deep in the wires and gears of Bucky's arm but his horrified expression wasn't hard to imagine.

"Have you ever read a book?" Bucky replied. "Or taken a nap? Naps are pretty amazing."

"Jesus," Tony huffed. "You really are a hundred years old, aren't you?"

"Not for another two years," Bucky replied smartly.

And the thing was, of course, that he and Steve _weren't_ fucking no matter how much he wished they were. And Bucky _didn't_ know if he was into beard burn (the few men he'd kissed back before the war certainly hadn't had beards) but Bucky _wanted_ to know. He _wanted_ to kiss Steve, to let his cheeks and jaw get scraped raw from hours of being up close and personal with that smart mouth. To let Steve press him down onto the couch and leave pink, raised skin all down Buckys body - anywhere and everywhere.

***

They got their first call out in a while, something about giant teddy bears attacking Coney Island (Bucky and Sam were at the VA when the call came in and missed most of the briefing so he knew it was giant teddy bear things but he didn’t know why or even if they were aliens or robots. He was really hoping robots.)

Sam’s uniform was the easiest to get on because it was basically bullet-resistant fabric pants and shirt and his wings. Sam had his guns in the wings and not a hell of a lot else. Steve’s uniform had straps, zippers, and a back holster for the shield, which he was fast at pulling on, but not as fast as Sam. Bucky’s was more complicated and he had to arm himself after it was on, so he missed Steve’s rushed entrance to the hangar bay, but he didn’t miss Sam’s hysterical laughter.

Sam was slapping his knee (he was spending too much time with Steve, Jesus) and Natasha and Clint were turned to each other, outright giggling. Thor and Tony were already gone, and Bruce was standing off to the side with a mild expression. Bucky didn’t get what was so funny at first but then Steve threw his hands up in exasperation and turned towards the door.

The helmet was state-of-the-art, just the thing to help shield Steve from bullet wounds and limit his exposure to concussions and other head trauma that was a potential hazard of being an Avenger. But, unlike his original helmet, Steve’s ears had no cover, so Bucky had always thought it looked a little silly on Steve, made it seem like his ears stuck out when they did no such thing.

But with the beard.

Well.

Bucky had to bite his lip not to laugh.

“You too, huh?” Steve rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

Bucky shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.

“Thought you liked the beard,” Steve muttered, resolutely not looking at any one of them as he boarded the quinjet.

“Don’t like the helmet,” Bucky says, following. Steve looks ridiculous, definitely, but Bucky still wouldn’t kick him out of his bed. Even if he wore the damn helmet.

“You like the beard?” Natasha arched an eyebrow, smiling slyly as she pushed past them both to take the copilot seat.

“Oh, do you,” Clint matched Natasha’s tone as he sat down and keyed up the engines.

“Beard burn,” Tony commented over their comm line. “I’m telling you.”

Steve’s ears were red - just another reason to hate the helmet - and he cut off the chatter with a sharp wave of his hand. “What’s your status, Stark?”

“Trying to keep Smokey and his brothers focused on eating the ferris wheel and not moving on to tastier treats,” Tony replied. “Thor’s playing whack-a-mole. It’s really something. Bet the Big Guy would love to get in on this.”

“Weak spots?” Bucky asked.

“The eyes. But it’s pretty gross, I’m not going to lie.”

 _Damn. Not robots,_ Bucky thought.

***

It was a long battle. Mostly because the things ranged between one and five stories tall and had legs like tree trunks. They were hard to take down and harder to keep down. Bucky got some hits with the rocket launcher and Clint’s explosive arrows made a dent but it was mostly down to the ground crew of heavy hitters and after a while Bucky joined the fray directly (even though he and Steve both hated that).

Coney Island looked worse for wear but they contained the damage there - something the Avengers really were damn good at - and Tony was sure he could figure out financing for a quick rebuild. Cleanup took a good long while, but eventually the Avengers were relieved from even that and they headed back to the tower for personal cleanup and sleep. There were community showers in the gym and near the hangar (which doubled as decontamination units) but while the rest seemed fine with that, Bucky made the long slog up to his and Steve’s floor. Cleaning himself didn’t take too long, but cleaning out the seams of his arm was a whole other thing. He was still polishing the knuckle joints when Steve poked his head in.

“I brought Chinese food down,” Steve said, stepping in and snagging the cloth from Bucky’s hand. Bucky let himself be turned around so Steve could get to the back of his elbow where Bucky never could quite get everything.

“You didn’t want to eat with everyone?”

“They’re threatening to play Truth or Dare so they can dare me to shave,” Steve said as he worked the cloth up along the back of Bucky’s arm to the shoulder and the seams against the skin.

“The beard’s not the problem, the helmet’s the problem,” Bucky said, trying not to sigh as Steve gently cleaned the shoulder seam. Half the nerves there were dead but the few that weren’t were incredibly sensitive. Sometimes that meant the pain was nearly unbearable and sometimes that meant a soft washcloth made him half hard.

Steve snorted. “The jerks we work with are the problem.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “That too.”

Steve finished up, dropping the washcloth in the hamper and squeezing Bucky’s shoulder before stepping away.

Bucky went to his room, grabbed a t-shirt, and met Steve in the kitchen. They sat across from each other at the breakfast bar and Steve made Bucky help him with the crossword puzzle book he’d bought and they ate all the food Steve had liberated from the other Avengers.

Steve took another shower - the bear smell wasn’t an easy thing to conquer - and Bucky cleaned up the kitchen and sorted his and Steve’s laundry for washing - because Steve still hadn’t taken half his shit out of his travel duffle. He started a load once he heard the shower turn off (Tony claimed the hot water heater could handle anything they threw at it but it was a dick move to ice a guy out of the shower when he didn’t deserve it).

Bucky got halfway through changing his sheets when the bathroom door opened and Steve shouted, "I'm borrowing your razor, okay?"

Bucky dropped the pillow he was holding and dashed - actually dashed - to the main bathroom. Steve was leaning against the sink, chin tilted up as he shaved the upper part of his neck, where he’d been getting scruff earlier, leaving the rest of his beard completely alone.

Steve side-eyed him. “You can’t care that much about the razor, Buck. I know you got it in a ten-pack at the store around the corner.”

Bucky scrambled for a better explanation than ‘I love your beard, I needed to make sure it was safe’. He settled for “Just making sure you weren’t shaving yet. I think there’s a bet going on, so you probably should make sure the jerk you like best wins.”

Steve rinsed the razor off in the sink, tapping it dry. “Yeah? And what did you put your money on?”

Bucky shook his head. “I was talking about Sam. I’m your other favorite jerk. And I didn’t get in on the bet.”

Steve dried his neck off with a towel and then dug the electric razor out from under the sink. “They wouldn’t let you in on it, huh? Too much potential influence?”

“Sure,” Bucky agreed because he wasn’t about to say he refused to even hear about the bet. Because he had a serious problem and a potential kink for beard burn.

Steve gave him a look that made it clear he knew when Bucky was lying - which went both ways, so Bucky should’ve known, but he let it go. “Should I be concerned that someone is going to attack my face with chewing gum?”

Bucky scowled. “Barton would absolutely do that,” he muttered. He put the toilet seat down so he could sit. Steve hummed his agreement before turning the razor on and starting to trim the hairs that were ever so slightly out of place on his chin.

“Scissors wouldn’t be easier?” Bucky asked. He remembered the barbers used to have scissors and straight razors, and scissors seemed a lot less tricky than the careful circus act Steve was performing.

“Nah,” Steve said, contorting himself around the sink, apparently to get a better look at the edge of his jaw under his ear. He held the razor there for a second before pulling it away without trimming. “There are settings so it won’t cut very much. But it has to be close up here and - damn, I swear I need about three mirrors to get this right.”

Bucky stood up and held out his hand. “Let me. You want a sharp angle or more of a curve?”

Steve handed the razor over without hesitation. “Up to you. Just make sure both sides match.”

“Good answer,” Bucky grinned, keying the razor back on. He sidled in close to Steve, pressed up against his side, and turned Steve’s head away and up so he could get the best view. Steve grabbed hold of the sink and went very still.

It was oddly nerve-wracking, taking the razor to the edge of Steve’s beard and slowly cutting it back into shape. The thing was on the shortest setting and if he tilted it wrong, he was gonna have to make all of Steve’s jawline match. The razor made a weirdly satisfying noise when it met the line of hair and after a few careful pushes, Bucky got the hang of it, slowly shaping the hair to a slight curve.

Bucky brushed the small hairs away with his flesh hand and his fingers lingered just for a second on the clear pale skin. And then he switched sides, taking the razor in his left hand, because it had the better angle, and if there was one thing he got out of his mess of a past, it was a finetuned ambidextrousness.

He held on to Steve’s face with his flesh hand and Steve turned into it obligingly, the edge of his mouth brushing Bucky’s fingertips, his mustache tickling. Bucky was a trained assassin, capable of staying completely still for hours at a time. And he was forced to remind himself of that, to remind himself to focus and not run his fingers through Steve’s beard and then turn him around and kiss the hell out of him.

Getting the second side to match was a little more difficult - it made Bucky think of all the times Steve had complained about drawing lopsided eyes and mismatched lips. He stood a little on tiptoe so he could tip Steve’s head a little more and get the last little clip in. He was pressed flush against Steve, his pelvis to Steve’s hip and keeping close enough to trim and angled out enough Steve wouldn’t feel his hard-on pressing against him was difficult and frustrating.

When he pulled back, Steve was still leaning against the sink, hands white-knuckled on the rim, eyes clenched shut. Bucky swallowed dryly. “Take a look,” he said, his voice slightly off, strained.

Steve blinked rapidly and the leaned close to the mirror. He took his sweet time assessing, looking for any imperfections. He frowned for a moment and then gestured to his ear. “I think it’s a little wider on this side?”

Bucky frowned and set the razor on the edge of the sink. He grabbed Steve’s face so he could turn it, comparing each sideburn, and maybe. Maybe that sideburn was a little wider.

“I could sit down,” Steve teased, smiling at him. “Don’t want you to have to get on tiptoe.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but he shoved Steve towards the toilet, pushing him to sit down. Steve sat, spreading his legs wide so Bucky could stand between them. Bucky kept his eyes on Steve’s face, resolutely, as he grabbed the razor and stepped in close.

It was actually a better angle, easier to see both sides at the same time. He turned the razor on and as he leaned down to trim, Steve settled both hands on Bucky’s waist. Bucky jerked to a halt, pulse suddenly rocketing up.

“Don’t want to end up with a goatee,” Steve said, grinning like the punk he was. “Gotta keep you steady.”

“I’m about to carve my initials if you don’t stop sassing me, Steven,” Bucky said warningly.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, pulling his hands up.

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head. “It’s fine. Might keep you still enough that you don’t ruin your own face.” Because he didn’t want Steve to stop touching him if Steve didn’t want to. Even if it meant Steve was probably eventually going to get an eyeful.

But he thought… maybe. Maybe he was getting signals here.

He trimmed a little more along the jawline on the right side and then gently sheared back the other sideburn. He thumbed the razor higher so he could take back some of the width to the left of Steve’s chin, where it sat a little higher than the rest. Steve’s hands were easy on his hips, resting gently there, nearly unnoticeable but for how warm they were, how much Bucky felt like there was a livewire under his skin.

He thumbed the razor off, setting it aside as he brushed the hair off Steve’s neck and the little bit from the edge of his ear. Steve didn’t let go and Bucky was about to say something, maybe do something, when the the door from the stairwell opened.

“Hey, Cap!” Clint shouted. “You got any popcorn down here? Stark used up all the Jiffy Pop showing off for the field trip this morning.

Bucky looked down at Steve whose face was pinched. “How did I forget it was movie night?” Steve murmured to himself.

Bucky barely held back a sigh, shouting to Clint, “Top cupboard next to the refrigerator!” He handed the razor off to Steve and stepped back, wiping his hands on his pants. “Should I bring beer?” he asked trying to remember how much they had of what. Rule was, if you bring for yourself, you bring for everyone. And even though Bruce was a teetotaler, Clint was the only lightweight, so bringing beer meant bringing a case or two.

“Nah, I don’t think there’s enough.” Steve shook his head, getting up, and putting the razor away. “I’ve gotta wash my face. I’ll meet you up there?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “I’ll go help Clint.”

They had a mostly untouched box of popcorn bags, and they brought the whole thing up to the community floor along with the licorice tub Clint had snagged from his own floor. Natasha was at the bar mixing Pepper a drink, Darcy and Jane were messing with the blender while Thor was setting out assorted candy boxes and snack trays on the large coffee table. Official movie night was a whole other beast from impromptu movie night and no expense was spared. Bruce and Tony were arguing about something when Bucky passed by them to drop the licorice off with Thor.

“Clint’s fondness for this is unfathomable to me,” Thor said offhandedly, accepting the tub and putting it off to the side.

Bucky shrugged because he didn’t think licorice was any worse than Skittles but he knew Thor would take exception to that.

Tony set down a large bowl of various M&Ms and gave Bucky a once over, focused mostly on his face and neck. “You’re killing me, Smalls,” he said.

Bucky rolled his eyes and went to grab a beer.

Steve and Bucky got the center-most couch, as they all settled down for the movie. “You’re the guest of honor, after all,” Tony told Steve.

“Guest of honor,” Steve repeated dubiously.

“Well, we are watching this movie tonight in honor of your follicular misdeeds,” Tony announced. “Jarvis, roll ‘em.”

Bucky had no idea what a movie about a childrens’ murder arena had to do with Steve’s beard until the head gamemaker and his ridiculously-shaped beard came on screen. Steve was completely put out about it while almost everyone else had a good laugh. Steve and Bucky pelted Tony with popcorn off and on for a good ten minutes.

Bucky made it through about half the movie, but once shit started going down in the arena, he couldn’t shake off his discomfort, the shadowy reminders less of his days under Hydra and more of the war, before Steve came. It wasn’t the same, wasn’t even close, but kids being cannon fodder still left him unsettled, unmoored.

Steve shifted closer to him and Bucky found himself wanting to lean forward, away from Steve’s touch. It wasn’t Steve - it wasn’t ever Steve - but he had that all-too-familiar weight in the bottom of his stomach and the thought of being touched for affection or comfort made him feel wrong, like Steve would be sullied by whatever was poisoned inside of Bucky.

“I’m tired,” he whispered in Steve’s ear. “Gonna head to bed.”

“I’ll come,” Steve whispered back, already starting to push himself off the couch.

“Nah.” Bucky shook his head, gently pushing Steve back down. “I’m good. Just ready for sleep and kind of bored. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“You sure?” Steve asked, skeptically.

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. He said his goodnights briefly and took the stairs back down. He took a quick shower, though he didn’t need it, and was in bed before Steve ever came in.

He dreamed that night of Azzano. It was a jumbled mess of a dream, torture first and then being sent back to work on building weapons. Steve still came but he was small, smaller even than he’d been when Bucky’d left New York and the Red Skull took him down with one punch.

And then it was an alley, one of a dozen all alike, with Bucky bent over Steve, trying to get Steve to talk to him, to breathe, even with his face in ruins, blood all over the pavement.

Bucky didn’t wake up screaming, just crying, tears streaked down his face, pillow wet under him. Steve was calling his name from the other side of the door.

“I’m okay,” he called back, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Can I come in?” Steve asked after moment.

Bucky threw the covers back and grabbed a hoodie before he opened the door. “I’m done sleeping,” he said with a shrug.

Steve looked somber but there wasn’t a trace of pity - there never was really, no matter how badly Bucky’d screamed his way through the night - only weary understanding. “Food?” he asked.

Bucky glanced out the window, where the sky was beginning to lighten. “Run?” he countered.

Steve smiled. “Get dressed,” he agreed.

They ran for over an hour and got breakfast on the way back. They met Sam in the lobby and he convinced them to tag along to a new bakery he’d heard about. It was a busy morning in the city, people bustling by, but the normalcy of it, of listening to Sam sweet-talk a guy into checking in the back for more brioche and getting the most sugar-filled coffee on the menu, calmed Bucky almost as much as the run had. It was just another day, years away from the war, from trenches and body-devouring weapons.

Steve had a ribbon cutting to get to later. He offered to cancel but Bucky wasn’t bad off and he sent Steve away with an order to make nice for the cameras. Clint and Natasha caught him when Steve left and they did target practice for a few hours and then got Indian from this place Clint swore by. Steve complained they smelled like curry when he got back and then it was just like any other day, like the day and the night before never happened. (Even if Bucky still daydreamed about kissing Steve, about his skin going raised and red.)

The Avengers had press conferences and a gala over the next few days, so when Fury requested a sniper backup, Bucky happily accepted. It kept him out of New York and away from the press just long enough that when he returned he felt a little out of touch, distant. Steve was quiet, but not in a way that meant he was mad, so Bucky left him mostly alone. He couldn’t help wonder if things had gone too far before, if he’d given himself away, and once the moment had passed Steve had regretted it.

Bucky tried not to think about it and he tried so hard not to stare. (Steve couldn’t seem to stop fussing with his beard, absentmindedly, maybe even nervously? Bucky wasn’t sure, but it was driving him crazy not to reach out and smooth the hair down.)

They took down a slime monster in an abandoned subway station over a week later. Bucky got the worst of it, to his dismay, (there was a field day of Ghostbuster jokes) and getting the shit out of his arm plates ended up involving more than Bucky could handle alone. Tony, Bruce, and Steve helped dismantle the complicated casings (Steve mostly because he had a hard time not getting involved in anything that went wrong with Bucky and because his hands were incredible agile despite their size and strength.)

Tony got out special cleaner and a few cloths and while the others debated slime monster origins and motives, Tony and Bucky sat at the table and cleaned each plate individually. Bucky’s left arm was depowered while the inside dried out, so there were no electrical shorts, but he made due with just the right hand, slowly and methodically wiping down each plate he grabbed, making sure to run them under the blacklight to check for residual slime. (The slime glowed under the blacklight, which didn’t surprise anyone.)

Tony was making conversation about potential upgrades to the arm when he took a moment to look Bucky over. “Still no beard burn. You’re disappointing me, Barnes.”

Bucky knew Tony was like this, knew he actually didn’t mean any harm and that it was part of how he expressed fondness and affection. But Bucky still found himself sneering angrily in response. Pushing his buttons about Steve had always been a guaranteed way of getting Bucky seriously fucking angry.

“Stop. Pushing,” Bucky said firmly.

Tony held his hands up in surrender. “Calm down, sidekick. No harm, no foul.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face and tried his breathing exercises. “Is there a bet?” he asked. “Is that why you can’t leave it alone?”

“No bet,” Tony said. “None of us are that dumb.”

Bucky gave Tony a look.

Tony huffed, looking put out and a little uncomfortable. “He looks at you like you’re the first person to slice bread and you look at him like you want to pull his clothes off with your teeth. I’m only trying to encourage true love, Robocop.”

“It’s none of your business,” Bucky replied, though he was slightly mollified both by Tony’s words and his tone. If Steve looked at him like that then maybe this wasn’t all in Bucky’s head, after all.

“Everything okay over here?” Steve called out from across the room.

Tony looked at Steve and then turned to look at Bucky. “Does he mama-bear you like this every hour of the day or only on the weekends?”

Bucky grinned with teeth. “Jealous?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe a little. He’s got more of a Catholic nun schoolteacher vibe with me.”

Bucky snickered. “Pal, you have no idea.”

***

Steve was still toweling his hair dry as he came into the living room. “You and Tony okay? You looked pretty mad at him earlier.”

“Tony keeps checking me for beard burn,” Bucky said without thinking and then shrugged to cover his wince. He reached out and flicked Steve in the shoulder.

“Beard burn?” Steve asked, snagging Bucky’s hand before he flicked him again.

“You know,” Bucky said, slowly and carefully like he was speaking to a small child. “If you get close and personal with someone - a dame - you’re gonna leave a rash behind?”

“I know what beard burn is,” Steve said exasperatedly.

“Then why’d you ask?” Bucky flicked Steve’s other shoulder with his free hand, careful to be gentle with the strong metal fingers but still annoying as shit.

Steve reached out and tried to snag Bucky’s other hand but Bucky half danced out of the way. “I don’t see why Tony’s asking."

"Because I'm the only one who likes your beard and isn't conspiring to shave it off,” Bucky replied.

“That so?” Steve missed Bucky’s hand again and instead reached over and flicked Bucky’s ear twice in retaliation.

Bucky jerked his head back, rubbing his ear.

Steve lifted his chin challengingly.

The thing was that he remembered wrestling, play-fighting, tickling, and all the other ways he used to just touch Steve because he could. He remembered Steve's hands being so familiar and easy on his skin, just like they were his own. And never thinking twice before throwing an arm over Steve's shoulder or grabbing him by the elbow. Bucky used to touch Steve whenever he wanted.

The thought made him ache.

And it also made him brave in a way he never used to have to be.

He used his free hand and poked Steve mercilessly in his side, right where he'd always been the most ticklish.

Steve made a sort of squeaking noise, jerking away but he didn't let go of Bucky’s hand and the grin on his face blossomed into something predatory. "Oh, that's how it is?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow challengingly.

Steve took him down. One smooth twist and then they were on the floor, grappling and tickling like they were eight again. Bucky was merciless, jabbing his fingers in Steve’s armpits and making Steve howl like a child.

Steve broke Bucky’s hold and grabbed his wrists and trapped them above Bucky’s head. He rubbed his face over Bucky’s, laughing that loud, obnoxious, joyful laugh that Bucky didn’t hear so much anymore. But Bucky couldn’t concentrate on the laugh, enjoy it the way he might wish. Because Steve had his fingers curled over Bucky’s wrists, his weight pressing down on Bucky’s crotch, his beard rubbing roughly over Bucky’s cheek and chin.

Bucky tilted his chin up, letting Steve’s momentum push him so his beard scraped against the five o’clock shadow clinging to the underside of Bucky’s jaw. It made Bucky shiver, made him barely suppress a whine because he wanted to move Steve’s face, bring his mouth up to Bucky’s jaw, to feel the faint tickle of hair against the always sensitive shell of his ear. But Steve was wrestling with him, and just being Steve, and Bucky needed to get himself together before he did something damn stupid.

Steve shifted his weight, clearly surprised at the way Bucky moved under him.

Bucky broke Steve’s hold, twisting to tickle Steve’s stomach and turn them over. Steve rolled with it and used his momentum to keep them going until he was on top again, covering Bucky’s body with his own. Bucky’s breath caught, aware of all the places they were touching, knowing Steve could feel Bucky hard underneath him.

Steve pushed himself half up, arms locking and chest lifting off Bucky. He looked down at Bucky, his eyes roving over Bucky’s face like he was looking for something.

But his weight was still mostly on Bucky, his hips against Bucky’s hips, his thighs bracketing Bucky’s thighs.

He looked at Bucky with wide eyes, pupils wider than normal, and flushed cheeks. And Bucky thought, _Oh._

Bucky reached up, cupping Steve’s chin in hand, and he pulled Steve’s face down.

They were a breath away from something when the Avengers emergency lights started to flash.

“What?” Steve said muzzily, still looking at Bucky, eyes locked on Bucky’s mouth.

“Pardon me,” Stark’s computer interrupted. “There appears to be an incident occurring along the shore. Mr. Stark wishes me to inform you that the Avengers are assembling now.”

Steve closed his eyes tight enough to show off his laugh lines and then sighed quietly. He rolled off Bucky and stood up. “What sort of incident, JARVIS?” He held a hand out to Bucky and Bucky took it and pulled himself up.

There was a slight pause from JARVIS and Bucky jogged into his room to gear up. Steve did the same across the hall.

“It appears there are reports of people coming out of the sea,” JARVIS reported, and how a computer sounded that skeptical Bucky would never understand.

“People coming out of the sea?” Steve repeated, already coming out of his room, half-hopping as he pulled on his boots.

“Like scuba divers or like mermaids?” Bucky buckled the straps of his jacket and pulled the duffel of weapons from under his bed. He hoped it was scuba divers. Scuba divers were completely manageable.

“It would appear the latter,” JARVIS replied.

Bucky sighed.

“Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barton will be arriving at the helipad momentarily to retrieve you,” JARVIS reported. “Good luck, sirs.”

“Thanks.” Steve slung his shield over his back and grabbed his helmet. He mouthed at Bucky “Mermaids?”

Bucky shrugged. “We’ve seen weirder.”

***

Mermaids, it turned out, was not the proper term. Bucky still wasn’t sure what the proper term was, he was just glad that the fight was short-lived and that now the diplomats had to deal with it.

“That was just weird,” Stark said over the commlink as he landed on his small pad below the helipad where the rest of the team was piling out of the helicopter.

“Weirder than Thor?” Clint asked. “Because I still think Thor is weirder.”

“Thor’s not as much of a jackass,” Natasha replied.

“Agreed.” Steve pulled off his helmet, his hair sticking up every which way.

“I have met a lot of jackasses but Namor? Was it Namor? However the hell you say it, that guy took the cake.” Tony had beat them inside, already pouring something from the bar. “But he did seem to like Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “He thought I was _interesting_.” He waved his metal arm at Tony. “Ain’t the same thing.”

“ _I_ think you’re interesting. That’s not what that was,” Tony replied, smirking.

“Tony,” Steve said warningly. He opened the fridge and started tossing water bottles to the assembled players.

Tony shrugged. “Barnes hasn’t been getting a lot of play. I’m worried he doesn’t know what flirting looks like anymore. Because Namor was flirting.”

Bucky popped the cap off his water and tried to ignore the whole conversation. Tony was probably right about Namor and Bucky really didn’t feel like dealing with that.

“You could do worse than a mermaid palace as your summer home,” Tony said.

Bucky flipped him off.

“Okay.” Steve shook his head, more exasperated than the conversation really deserved. “I’m going to take a shower.” He shot Bucky a weirdly intense look and then waved half-heartedly at the rest of them. Natasha side-eyed him with interest but didn’t say anything when he left.

Bucky hesitated for barely a minute and then shook his head. “Yeah, I'm going to take my gear off before Stark tries to set me up with the King of the Mermaids."

"Hey," Tony objected. "He was a jackass but his six-pack was amazing. You'd tap that. You know you would."

"I've seen better," Bucky smirked, giving Tony a lazy salute in farewell.

"Fine, run away." Tony waved him off. "But if you don't get Cap to shave I'm totally telling the State Department that the guy likes you."

The elevator doors pinged open and Bucky stepped inside. "No, you won't." Tony was grinning at him when the doors closed. Tony seemed to like it when they weren't impressed with him.

The ride was quick, barely a moment from floor to floor and Bucky had only just gotten his jacket open when he arrived at their floor.

When Bucky stepped off on his and Steve’s floor, Steve was not in the shower. He was still half-dressed in mission pants and undershirt and he was pacing the length of the living room. He looked up at the ping of the elevator.

“Hey,” Bucky said, suddenly feeling all kinds of awkward. Because he was pretty sure there wasn’t a single way to deny that he’d been about to kiss Steve, earlier.

Steve’s worried expression eased off, replaced by a slightly dopey smile that Bucky knew so well. “Hey,” Steve said.

Bucky couldn’t help smiling back as he shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the back of the couch. “Mermaids, huh?”

“Aliens come down from the sky and you think you’ve seen everything but the universe keeps proving you wrong.” Steve shrugged.

Bucky snorted. “Not sure I want to see what comes next,” he replied, bending down to unlace and kick off his boots by the door.

“Sure you do,” Steve said, suddenly close.

Bucky looked up.

Steve shifted his weight and if you knew him well - and who knew him better than Bucky - you could tell he was nervous. No obvious tells but it was there in the line of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. “Earlier,” Steve said, voice rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Earlier, it seemed like you were. Like you might.”

Bucky felt his face go red. “Yeah,” he said, knowing there was no point in lying. Not with Steve. “Yeah, I might’ve.”

Steve licked his lips. “You still gonna?”

Bucky felt hot and cold at the same time and his heart was racing. “Depends on you,” he said.

Steve smiled, a nervous, but happy-looking, small smile. “Yeah?”

Bucky smiled back, swallowing. They were disasters, both of them. Bucky used to be good at this, and he used to be good with Steve, but he wasn’t that guy anymore and he had no idea what the hell he was doing. But it was Steve, and he was standing right there, so close Bucky could practically feel how warm he is, how solid and sure. It was Steve, with his stupid beard and his stupid smile and every other stupid thing he’d ever taken with him. _It was Steve._

Bucky reached out with both hands, cupped Steve’s jaw and pulled him close, kissing him soft and open-mouthed.

Steve sighed into his mouth, opening wider to let Bucky in and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, tucking Bucky up against him. Bucky tilted his head a little for a better angle, loving how soft Steve’s lips were, loving the barely-there scrape from his mustache. Bucky ran his thumbs over Steve’s jaw, pushing the hair against the grain, tickling his thumbs.

Steve made a small noise and went with every move. There was tongue and teeth and small breaks and breaths and kissing again. It made Bucky’s spine tingle, but it wasn’t the heated passionate thing it might have been earlier. It was different, softer than he was expecting, more like coming home than discovering anything new.

Steve broke away for breath, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s and keeping his eyes tightly shut. “I knew, you know, that you’d kissed some fellas. But I never figured you’d wanna kiss me.”

Bucky snorted. “Shows how smart you are. You’re the only fella I ever really wanted to kiss.”

Steve pulled back to smile at Bucky, wide and happy, his teeth so white against the shadow of his beard.

Bucky ran his hands over Steve’s beard because he could, ran his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. Steve opened his mouth and let Bucky’s thumb slip in.

Before the mermaids, Bucky had been ready to go, hard as hell from Steve’s body against his, from the scrape of stubble over his face. It felt like it took a less than a minute to get that hard again, just from kissing Steve. From having Steve touch him and look at him like that.

He pulled his thumb back, kissed Steve again because he couldn’t help himself. Steve groaned softly and pulled Bucky close, hands locked on Bucky’s hips.

“You ever?” Bucky asked with a gasp. He knew Steve hadn’t before the war, hadn’t during. But Bucky wasn’t around for a good long while, so maybe.

“No,” Steve said, his cheeks rosy above the beard.

“Okay,” Bucky nodded. He could wait, no problem. He could wait as long as Steve wanted. Hell, if Steve never wanted to, he’d deal with it.

Steve shook his head and kissed Bucky again, short and sweet before moving his hands to Bucky’s belt. “But I’d _really_ like to.”

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky muttered, pulling at Steve’s shirt, feeling so breathlessly grateful and so excruciatingly turned on.

Steve laughed at that, beaming at Bucky. “Yeah?” he asked, grinning like an ass, undoing Bucky’s belt and pulling it off and away.

Bucky rolled his eyes and got Steve’s shirt off with as much groping as he could manage to fit in. “Yeah,” he shot back. He scratched lightly down Steve’s chest and stomach, watching the muscles flex as he went.

Steve got Bucky’s fly open and pushed his hand in, cupping Bucky through his underwear. He slid his hand up and down, slowly, while he leaned in to kiss and bite along Bucky’s jaw. Bucky settled his hands at Steve’s waist, arching his head back to give Steve more room to work with, loving the scrape along his neck.

“I can’t believe my damn beard is what gets you going,” Steve murmured, biting at Bucky’s ear.

“Your hand is helping,” Bucky sighed, pushing his hips closer to Steve, trapping Steve’s hand between them. Steve’s fingers flexed then stilled and Bucky opened his eyes to look at Steve.

Steve was looking down between them, at the length of Bucky pressing against the black cotton of his boxer-briefs, the very tip of his dick inching past the waistband.

“My hand?” Steve asked, quietly, sounding almost winded.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, suddenly concerned that maybe Steve wasn’t as sure as he’d acted.

Steve kissed him, rough and quick, and then he pulled back so he could drop to his knees.

“Whoa, hey,” Bucky said.

“Bet you’re more interested in my mouth than my hand,” Steve smirked at him, and in Bucky’s moment of shocked arousal, Steve pulled down his pants and boxers and then pushed him bare-assed against the wall.

Steve got his hand on Bucky, stroking in earnest, while he leaned in to trail kisses along Bucky’s thighs and stomach. Bucky grabbed at Steve’s hair and just held on. He should probably tell Steve he didn’t have to, or something but it was Steve’s idea and for once in his new life, Bucky was perfectly content to just be along for the ride.

Steve nuzzled the hair leading down to Bucky’s dick, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the skin, and then his hand stilled, holding Bucky’s dick steady and he swirled his tongue over the head.

Bucky knocked his head back against the wall, swearing.

Steve snickered and leaned in again, taking a long lick up and down before pressing his lips over the head, and then sliding down, slowly. He was clumsy - of course he was - but eager, with fits and starts until he managed to get a rhythm with his hand sliding up from root to tip and his mouth sliding down to meet it. Steve pulled his lips over his teeth and that had Bucky talking nonsense from the wet heat of his tongue, the soft brush of his lips, and the scratch from his mustache. God, it was better than Bucky had imagined and he’d imagined it so often. But he hadn’t come close, not to the sounds Steve was making, like he was getting off on this too, like making Bucky crazy was the best thing he could be doing.

Bucky gripped the wall with his metal hand, trying to keep himself from pushing away from it into Steve’s mouth, but he pulled at Steve’s hair with his real hand, tangled his fingers in tight, loved how soft it felt against his palm. Steve made a pleased little hum, which felt amazing, so Bucky pulled tighter, not directing Steve’s head down but almost, almost.

Steve’s free hand pushed Bucky’s hip to the wall, holding him steady, then he pulled his other hand away to do the same. Bucky made a pitiful noise at the loss but then Steve swallowed against him and took him deeper, slowing his pace while he tried to see how far he could go.

“Oh god, Stevie” Bucky hissed. “You’re doing so good, so good I promise.”

Steve made a rude noise, clearly amused as hell, but he kept going up and then down again, lower and lower. He wasn’t taking Bucky all the way, but Bucky wasn’t complaining.

At one point, almost inevitably, Steve made a choking noise and had to pull off, gasping for air. Bucky slumped against the wall, letting go of Steve’s hair so he could pet Steve’s face, caress his bruised mouth.

“Did your serum affect your stamina?” Steve asked, gasping, forehead resting against Bucky’s thigh while he tried to catch his breath.

Bucky blinked and it took a minute before his brain could make the words into a sentence. He was so far gone and they’d just gotten started. At least he hoped they’d just gotten started.

“I don’t know?” he said uncertainly.

“Never wanted round two with your hand?” Steve winked at him.

“Nah.” Bucky shook his head. Up until pretty recently, even round one with his hand wasn’t a too common occurrence. “Why? You want to wear me out? See how far I can go?”

Steve’s eyes darkened at that, and he looked so completely on board with that idea. Which was great, perfect even.

“Want to fuck you,” Steve admitted, almost whispering it. “After. If you’ll let me. But--”

Bucky covered Steve’s mouth. Steve went silent immediately. “After?” Bucky asked. “How about now? Now’s good for me. Really, really good for me.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up, looking happily surprised. He pulled Bucky’s hand away to say, “I can finish you off like this. I just needed to catch my breath.”

“Finish me off when you’re inside me,” Bucky said, pulling at Steve’s arms, making him stand. “And get out of those pants. Now.”

Steve laughed, letting Bucky push him towards Steve’s bedroom. Bucky kicked his pants off, feeling ridiculous with them around his ankles. He palmed his dick while he followed Steve into the bedroom. Steve still had his damn boots on.

“Clothes and boots off,” Bucky ordered, crawling on to the bed. “You got any supplies?”

“Nightstand. I’ve been pretty optimistic lately,” Steve replied, while he hopped around pulling his boots off. He looked like an idiot. Bucky grinned. God he loved Steve, even when he was ridiculous.

“Oh, you have, have you.” Bucky pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand, found thread and needles, two dog-eared books, and a framed picture of the two of them. Bucky smiled and shook his head, closing that drawer and opening the bottom one, which had a kleenex box, an unopened bottle of lube, and a sealed box of condoms.

Steve kneeled on the bed, crawling up to press his body against Bucky’s back. He rubbed his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky shuddered at the rough scrape. “The way you kept looking at me,” Steve said. “Hard not to think you might be up for something.” He snatched the lube and condoms out of the drawer and dropped them on the bed.

Bucky lifted his hips, pushing his ass against Steve’s groin. “Look at you, getting all observant in your old age.”

Steve ground down against him with a breathless little moan. He wrapped a hand around Bucky’s shoulder in something like a hug, kissing the back of Bucky’s neck. “Only been hoping to see you look at me like that for forever.”

Bucky turned his head as much as he could, hoping Steve would get it and Steve did, sliding up to kiss Bucky awkwardly. “Like I said,” Bucky whispered into his mouth, “getting observant now, since I’ve been looking at you like that for years.”

Steve smiled against his mouth, kissing him again and then kissing his neck and his shoulder. “Yeah?” he asked as he kissed down Bucky’s spine, slowly, like he had to stop at each notch and make sure.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, toes curling at the the contrast of his lips and his beard. There was the click of a lid opening and then, after a moment, Steve slid a slick finger inside him.

Bucky thought maybe he did this before. But he wasn’t sure, his memories were still patchy in places, mostly places where Steve wasn’t. But if he had, it’d been years and years, no matter how you looked at it. And it felt new, and weird, but pleasant. Steve kept kissing Bucky’s back and hips, nuzzling the skin while he slowly worked Bucky open with one finger, then two.

“Your skin’s all red,” Steve said with a sigh. “It’ll be gone in the morning I’m sure, but.”

Bucky pushed back onto Steve’s fingers with a moan. “Then make it redder. Want to see it for a few hours, at least.”

“Bossy,” Steve teased, leaning back down, sucked a bruise onto Bucky’s skin. He did that for a while, left bruises and small bites, and barely there scratches as he worked Bucky open, curling his fingers to make Bucky shout, looking so pleased when he did so.

“Did some reading,” he said and Bucky laughed, bowing his head down on the mattress because of course Steve did, of course.

Steve curled his fingers again, made Bucky see stars. “You were laughing?” Steve asked teasingly.

“God bless the library,” Bucky replied, pushing back hard on Steve’s fingers, wanting more.

“The internet,” Steve corrected. “I get mobbed when I go to the library.”

“Steve,” Bucky clutched at the mattress, thrusting back again. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Okay,” Steve said, half apology, pulling his fingers free. He was gone for just a minute, Bucky could hear the rustle of a condom being opened, Steve hissed as he probably slid it on. And then Steve’s hands were back on him, holding him steady, as he slowly pushed in. When he was all the way in, pelvis against Bucky’s ass, Steve let out a sound like he’d been gut-punched. He bent over Bucky, pressed reverent kisses across Bucky’s back, breath shallow and hands curled along Bucky’s sides.

Bucky could barely breathe with it, could barely think, with Steve in and against him, taking up all the space he could until he was the only thing Bucky was aware of, the only think Bucky could focus on.

Steve thrust shallowly at first, in and out, and Bucky relaxed with each thrust, taking him easily and then pushing back against him. Steve murmured something about how gorgeous Bucky was, but Bucky could only barely hear him over the pounding of his heart and his own moans as Steve’s thrusts sped up, went deeper over and over. He hit the spot that made Bucky see stars when it was just Steve’s fingers and now Bucky slammed his fist against the mattress, begged Steve until Steve grabbed hold of Bucky’s hips and angled him so he hit that spot more than his missed. Bucky couldn’t stop talking but he didn’t know what he was saying, just nonsense prayers and pleas while Steve said his name over and over and swore, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, Buck. You’re good, you’re good,” in a mindless litany.

Steve got one hand over Bucky’s dick, rough and off-rhythm but it was great, it was fantastic, it was the best Bucky could ever remember feeling. His arms felt wobbly holding him up, barely working, even the one that could withstand a half ton of weight.

“I’m not going to last long,” Steve gasped, sounding like he can barely think of the words. “You feel - I didn’t know it felt like this - god.”

“I’m close,” Bucky slumped forward on his elbows, bowing his head down. “Been close since you - just yeah.” Steve’s thrusts got rougher, his hand fisting Bucky’s dick hard, getting the same rhythm, the same up and down and Bucky’s swore in a steady stream, mindless. He felt like his skin was on fire, like all his nerves were alight and tingling from the base of his spine up. Steve bottomed out again and again and then Bucky dropped his head to the mattress and came with a shout. He could feel Steve come a few moments later, heard him say Bucky’s name in one long groan, like it’d been wrung out of him, his voice guttural and broken.

Steve slumped against him, mouth open against his spine, breath warm on Bucky’s skin. He slid his hands over Bucky’s skin, his sides, his shoulders, down his arms and back to his ribs, like even now he just couldn’t stop touching Bucky, couldn’t let him go for a minute. He mouthed something against Bucky’s spine, a whisper so soft that Bucky couldn’t quite make it out, even with his enhanced hearing. But he thought he knew.

He snagged one of Steve’s hands with his own, threaded their fingers together, flesh and metal. Steve curled his hand without hesitation, holding on like he’d never let go.

“Me too,” Bucky whispered.

Steve stilled above him and then sighed, softly, happily. He kissed Bucky’s back again and then pushed himself up so he could pull out of Bucky. The condom was dropped into the trashcan by the nightstand and then Steve was laying down on his side and pulling Bucky away from the wet spot on the sheets and into his arms.

“Yeah?” he asked, kissing Bucky again and rubbing their faces together.

Bucky squirmed around until he was comfortable, looping an arm around Steve’s waist and resting his head against Steve’s chest. “Of course,” he said. “Don’t be a dumb jerk.”

Steve chuckled, kissing the top of Bucky’s head. “But I’m _your_ dumb jerk,” he said, throwing one of his legs over Bucky’s.

Bucky smiled. “You’re damn right.”

 

***

Steve was right, the beard burn and the bruises were gone by morning. So Bucky made it his personal mission to get them back and quickly and as often as possible. He succeeded enough that one morning Tony saw him and punched the air in triumph. And then had a care package delivered to their floor with aloe vera, soothing face wash, and more beard care items than Bucky cared to count.

“You got to treat your boy right,” Tony told Steve, later.

Steve told Tony to shove it and then Natasha interrupted with feigned disappointment, “Guess this means the beard is staying.”

Steve shrugged and it definitely wasn’t a no. “Think of all the new jokes you can make,” Steve said. “The fossil ones were getting a little...old.”

Clint and Thor cracked up at Steve’s terrible pun and Sam, Bruce, and Bucky gave it the horrified groan it deserved. Steve and Natasha started bantering back and forth, while Steve held Bucky’s hand, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles.

Bucky couldn’t stop grinning.

Tony eventually settled down on the couch on Bucky’s other side, setting down a beer for each of them on the table.

He held up a hand and Bucky gave him the high five he was asking for.

“Beard burn?” Tony asked.

“A-plus,” Bucky replied. “Would recommend.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Abraham Lincoln's letter to Miss Grace Bedell, October 19, 1860:
> 
>  
> 
> _As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affection if I were to begin it now? Your very sincere well-wisher_
> 
>  
> 
> _A. Lincoln_


End file.
